Her Last Lie

by Amanda Brittany

  ‘OK, I’ll leave you to get on.’ He sounded disappointed.

  ‘Is that all right? You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No worries. I have loads of things to watch on Netflix.’ He smiled again, but there was something in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, no … we were supposed to be going out, weren’t we?’ she said, spotting a picnic basket. ‘I forgot. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No worries, it’s nothing that won’t keep for another day.’ He glanced out of the window. The sun had gone. The grey clouds had won. ‘Anyway it’s too cold for the seaside.’

  ‘And it looks like rain.’

  ‘Yeah, we can go some other time.’ He shrugged, got down from the stool, and threw himself back on the sofa.

  A pang of guilt radiated through her. ‘Although we have umbrellas,’ she said.

  He turned back, face brightening. ‘I could even break out my cagoule.’

  She laughed. The thought of the sea air was tempting. She could do with getting as far away from home as possible. ‘OK, why not?’ she said, taking another gulp of coffee. She stood up, yawning, and stretching her arms above her head. ‘Although don’t get any ideas about staying over – my mum’s invited us round tomorrow for one of her famous Sunday dinners, and I haven’t seen her since Canada. If we don’t turn up she’ll go into meltdown.’

  ‘No problem. I’d never say no to one of your mum’s roasts,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Her Yorkshire puds are to die for.’

  ‘Well, I’d better get dressed then. It’s already ten thirty,’ she said, her brain untangling by the moment. ‘I’ll grab a shower and then we can head off.’

  Facebook: Hunstanton for the day with Jack Green. Umbrellas and cagoules at the ready. Haven’t been there since I was a kid. Feeling excited.

  ***

  Jack appeared from the joke shop, and, pretend-sulky, headed towards the bench where Isla had been sitting for the last ten minutes huddled in her coat, looking out to sea.

  She’d been ravenous since she got there, first tucking into the picnic, and now she was finishing off a bag of chips. ‘It must be the sea air,’ she’d said earlier, dashing into the fish and chip shop. But it was more that she’d barely eaten anything the day before.

  The rain had kept off, and a strip of pale blue sky, sandwiched between grey clouds and the sea, seemed determined to break through.

  Jack dropped down next to her on the bench, as she wiped her hands clean on a serviette.

  ‘I’ve bought a Spider-Man costume for Millie’s party,’ he said.

  ‘Brilliant,’ she said with a smile, screwing up the chip wrappings. ‘Spider-Man’s cool.’ She laughed. Truth was, Isla could take or leave Marvel and DC, but Jack bordered on obsessed. Their spare room shelves were brimming with collectable action figures and Pop Vinyls, although she’d drawn the line at an Avengers duvet cover he’d hinted he wanted.

  He pulled a cloth Spider-Man mask from the bag, and dragged it over his head. ‘What do you think?’ he said, voice muffled by the cloth, and a little boy with wide blue eyes and curly blond hair stopped and stared, hands on his hips.

  ‘Jacob,’ his mother called.

  ‘But, Mummy, look, it’s Spider-Man,’ the boy said, as she grabbed his hand and whisked him away with a smile.

  Isla laughed, took out her phone, snapped a photograph of Jack, and put it on Facebook.

  Jack’s mask for Millie’s 40th #Spider-Man. Thought I’d put it on the Web. Ho Ho! Sorry!

  ‘Well? What do you think?’ Jack repeated, as she put her phone away. ‘Be honest. I can take it.’

  ‘Whatever turns you on, I suppose,’ she said, giggling, and tossing the screwed-up chip paper into a nearby bin.

  ‘But does it turn you on?’ he said, pulling the mask free, so his hair stood on end with static electricity. He leant forward and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘That’s all I care about.’

  Isla laughed again, and flattened down his hair with her hand. ‘So, what do you want to do now?’

  ‘Arcade? I have coins.’

  ‘How old are you? Five?’

  ‘I was deprived as a child,’ he said, rising and shoving the mask in the plastic bag with the rest of the costume.

  He took hold of her hand as they walked down the hill towards the amusement arcade near the beach, passing gift shops and a café where people sat outside, despite the cold.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, dashing into one of the gift shops. ‘I need a Hunstanton fridge magnet for my collection.’ Moments later she reappeared, shoving a paper bag into her coat pocket.

  Jack smiled, and took her hand once more. ‘You’re so easily pleased,’ he said.

  They crossed the road on a zebra crossing, and dived inside the arcade, like a couple of kids.

  ‘Did you come to the seaside as a child?’ she said later, as Jack tried his luck catching a cuddly toy at the metal claw machine.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, as the claw caught hold of a Minion. He twisted round to look at her, and the Minion dropped from the claw’s grasp. ‘My dad, before he left, would take me to Chesil Beach, and we’d search for dinosaur fossils, that kind of thing.’ He looked into her face, a hint of sadness in his eyes. ‘But then he left, and Mum and I moved, and we lost touch.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not for the first time.

  ‘Yeah well it’s in the past now.’ He shrugged. ‘Ancient history.’

  The incessant bleeping, the robotic voices of arcade games, and money crashing into metal trays jarred with his sad tone. He moved away from the grabber machine. ‘Talking of walks along the coastline,’ he said. ‘We were, weren’t we?’

  She smiled.

  ‘Do you fancy going down on the beach?’

  They left the noise of the arcade, and climbed down concrete steps onto the sand. A seagull squawked overhead, its wings spread wide. Isla pulled out her camera and snapped a picture as it flew down and settled on a wooden post. It looked sure of itself as it continued to squawk. ‘I’m convinced seagulls get bigger every year,’ she said.

  ‘Yep, pretty sure they’re going to take over the world,’ Jack said, with a grin. ‘The invasion of the seagulls.’

  ‘Sounds like a Hitchcock film.’

  They walked for a while before Isla said, ‘I came here as a child sometimes. Mum and Dad would race Millie and me along this very beach, and somehow I always won, even though I had the littlest legs. Millie would scoop me up and swing me round as she ran through the finish line.’ She smiled at the thought of her sister. ‘She used to tickle my cheek with butterfly kisses,’ she said.

  Jack smiled too. ‘It’s funny how when we are young we always win. Dad used to let me win at chess.’

  ‘Chess?’ she said, eyebrows rising. ‘You’ve never told me you played chess as a kid.’

  ‘Isla, you keep forgetting I was a geek back then.’

  ‘Back then?’ she said, with a cheeky tone.

  He tickled her waist, and she laughed and ran off in front of him, her coat flapping in the breeze. When she was some distance away, she turned and began walking backwards, snapping photographs of him. ‘I’m afraid you’re still a geek, Mr Green,’ she said.

  ‘OK, fine. But I’ll have you know, geek is the new orange.’

  ‘What? I don’t even know what that means.’

  ‘Nope, me neither.’

  They walked on in silence for some time, Isla’s feet sinking in the soft sand, her trainers heavy. The sounds of the town faded into the distance. It felt good to get away for the day. Good to clear her head a bit.

  ‘You know I love you, right?’ Jack said, stopping, as the clouds separated and a watery sun beamed down on them. ‘That I’d do anything for you.’ He fumbled in his pocket, and dropped down onto one knee.

  ‘Oh God, Jack, what are you doing?’ The crash of the waves against the sand sounded loud in her ears.

  ‘Isla Jane Johnson, will you marry me?’

  Isla’
s heart thumped as she met his eyes, noting his cheeks reddening. She knew her silence was worrying him, but time seemed to slow, the seagulls circling above making her dizzy. Getting married was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to turn away – run along the beach until she reached a silent cove, where she could sit and think and think and think.

  ‘Isla?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ He stood up, his wide, green eyes searching her face. ‘I don’t understand.’ His voice was so quiet. ‘I thought you loved me.’

  ‘I do, Jack.’

  ‘We talked about getting married one day, didn’t we? I just thought …’

  She looked again at the ring, noting the slight tremor in his hand, and then back into his sad face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, tears filling her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Isla. Just say yes. Please. You’re killing me here.’ He began to pace back and forth, his trainers scuffing the sand. ‘I thought you loved me. I thought we were solid.’

  She bit down on her lip, watching his eyes grow watery. Lovely, sweet Jack deserved so much more. She couldn’t bear that she was hurting him. ‘OK, let’s get married,’ she said, on impulse, wanting to bite back the words as they entered the sea air and became fact. This was the wrong time.

  He stopped pacing. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course.’ But she was far from it. She wasn’t sure about anything any more.

  He took her hand and slipped the solitaire diamond ring onto her finger, and her heart continued to race for all the wrong reasons.

  On the way back, she pulled out her phone, and opened Facebook. The place where she could pretend Carl Jeffery hadn’t set up home in her head. A place where she could make believe everything was OK.

  Got engaged to Jack Green. Feeling wonderful.

  Within moments the ‘likes’ and ‘loves’ appeared, and people began commenting. With a jolt, she realised Trevor was one of them.

  So pleased for you both. I hope you’ve made the right decision.

  Chapter 15

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  Sunday, 30 October, 6 a.m.

  I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve tried calling Andy. Texting isn’t enough. I know he said not to ring any more, but I need to his hear his voice. Tell him about Jack – that my engagement means nothing, that I’m not even sure why I said yes. That it was a stupid, stupid mistake.

  ‘Pick up, pick up, pick up,’ I cry each time, over and over, but he never has. I think he’s ignoring me.

  I can’t think straight any more. My brain feels like fog, as I attempt to work everything out. I thought he would come to England. He said he would. Yes, he said he would.

  I’m going to try to come to Sweden, Isla, his last text said. Try? It all feels so vague, and not what I’d hoped for at all. Not the happy ending I’d dreamed of. Why is he doing this to me?

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  Chapter 16

  Sunday, 30 October

  The early morning walk was helping. It was dark and miserable, threatening rain, but it didn’t matter. Isla needed the space and fresh air more than anything right now – somewhere mentally freeing, to attempt to sort out her thoughts.

  She’d parked up in the pretty nearby village of Willian, before heading into the countryside on the Greenway route, the wind blowing her hair into a tangled, unruly mess. She’d already taken a stunning photo of a late migrating swallow perched on a wooden sign.

  ‘Good luck on your journey, little chap,’ she’d said, watching the straggler take off. She didn’t know much about swallows, except that their flight to South Africa was hazardous. She admired how the tiny bird went on its journey, heading for its destination without fear.

  Now Isla crouched to snap a photo of a Red Admiral butterfly, happy that the turmoil inside her head had lost its voice – for now. But the calm was cut short by the sound of footsteps. She rose and looked around her, her body stiffening. A gust of wind blew a shower of crispy red leaves across the path she’d taken, startling her. The field to her left spread for miles, meeting with low grey clouds that looked as though they might burst. The trees and bushes to her right were dense. She couldn’t be sure whether someone might be lurking there.

  Twigs snapped under what sounded like more footfalls.

  ‘Isla.’

  She swallowed painfully. Had someone called her name? No, it must have been the wind disturbing the bushes, or perhaps the wildlife. Still she shoved her camera in its holdall, pulled out her phone in case she needed it, and hurried away. Speed walking turned into a run, as she glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, but nobody appeared. It must have been an animal or a bird, she told herself, as she slowed to catch her breath. Or maybe she was losing it.

  There was no doubting the thought of Carl Jeffery being freed was getting to her. Could they have let him out? Could he really be in England, stalking her, scaring her, waiting in the wings to finish what he’d started? She picked up speed again, her legs weak and jelly-like as she ran.

  Five minutes away from her car, a heavy raindrop hit her cheek, and within moments rain hammered down. She shoved her camera holdall inside her hoodie, and kept on running. By the time she reached her car, her hair was plastered to her head, and her clothes were soaked through. She opened the door, dived inside, and grabbed some tissues from a box on the dashboard. As she dabbed her face, gasping for breath, a painful stitch in her side, she noticed a piece of paper under the windscreen wiper blades, saturated under the pressure of the thrashing rain.

  She leapt from the car and grabbed it, her eyes scanning the pictures of Australian butterflies.

  ‘Oh God,’ she whispered, dropping it as though it had burnt her skin. She looked about the silent street, pulled out her phone, and thumbed the screen.

  ‘Jack,’ she yelled when he picked up.

  ‘Hey, Isla? You OK?’

  ‘I’m in Willian, and, oh God, Jack.’ She was shaking, her voice far too high-pitched, and breathless.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  She took a deep breath, and looked down at the piece of paper floating in a puddle at her feet.

  ‘Isla?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said, realising it was a flyer for a nearby butterfly sanctuary. Her heartbeat slowed, as she stared at it, aware of the rain bouncing inches off the ground, and the sound of it hitting the car roof like marbles. ‘I’m being a numpty,’ she went on, trying for a calm even tone. ‘Just some wally on the road cut me up in the car, unnerved me a bit, that’s all,’ she lied.

  ‘Dick.’

  ‘I am not,’ she said, trying for a laugh, and he laughed too. ‘I’m OK. Just over-reacting. Ignore me.’ She dashed her sleeve across her cheek in an attempt to dry the rain.

  ‘You sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be home soon. I’m looking forward to seeing Mum later. Probably wobbly from missing her, that’s all.’

  ‘OK, well I’ll see you soon, yeah?’

  ‘Yep, won’t be long,’ she said, ending the call.

  She bent down to pick up the flyer, which disintegrated in her hands, and was now barely legible. She looked about her once more. There were no other flyers on the cars parked along the roadside, and a thought hit her.

  The butterfly sanctuary had closed its doors two years ago.

  ***

  Facebook: Yummy Sunday lunch at my parents’ – Sally Johnson and Gary Johnson’s house – with Jack Green, Millie Bailey, Abigail Bailey, Julian Bailey.

  ‘So when’s the big day?’ Mum asked, as they sat around the dining room table, a roast potato suspended on her fork. ‘Please put your dinosaurs away, Abigail – they’ll get covered in gravy.’

  ‘I need them here, Gran,’ Abigail said, straightening them into a line, in height order. One fell to the floor, and the puppy raced over to sniff it. ‘Not yours, Larry,’ she cried, diving down to pick it up, her dark hair falling about
her face. Bobbing up quickly, she put it back in her neat row.

  ‘We haven’t set a date,’ Isla said, swallowing down a carrot, and glancing at Jack from the corner of her eye. He didn’t appear to be listening, his eyes fixed on his phone screen. She felt a surge of guilt. She’d changed the subject on the way home the night before, talking about Millie’s pending party and Abisko instead. They’d even chatted about the latest Marvel film – anything but what they should be addressing.

  He finally glanced up. ‘Isla’s got one more trip soon, Sally,’ he said, looking at Isla’s mum, his voice giving away nothing. ‘I’m sure once the book’s complete, we’ll set a date.’ He moved his gaze to Isla, before resting his eyes back on his phone, and picking up his fork.

  ‘Put your phone down, Jack,’ Abigail said. ‘It’s rude to have it at the table.’

  Jack smiled, and put it in his pocket. ‘Sorry, Abigail, you’re right. Where are my manners?’

  ‘You must have lost them, Jack,’ Abigail said, with a serious face.

  ‘Have you named your book yet, Isla?’ Sally said, crunching down on the crispy potato. ‘I know you couldn’t make up your mind.’

  Isla nodded. ‘I’m calling it Isla’s Journey.’

  ‘Lovely. It’s an amazing achievement, darling. I’m so proud of you. You’ve done so well, after what happened.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘Imagine, I may have a famous daughter one day.’

  ‘Well it won’t be the first time she’s been famous, will it?’ Julian said, cutting into his turkey. He was forty-five, small and thin, with mousy-brown hair scooped back from his forehead with too much gel, and oval wire-rimmed glasses. Even though he’d been in her life for years, Isla still didn’t feel she knew him. The truth was she didn’t like him very much, and had made that obvious in her teens, but now she pretended everything was OK, for Millie.

  A brief silence fell on the room, before Julian added, ‘Although, I suppose being splattered across the front pages of newspapers as an almost victim of a serial killer is hardly the same thing.’